Shrapnel
by Mystic25
Summary: I’ve done a million fics on Pollo Loco, but I never really touched completely on the dynamics of the last scene. Post Episode.


"Shrapnel"

Mystic25 I've done a million fics on Pollo Loco, but I never really touched completely on the dynamics of the last scene. Post Episode

Disclaimer: I can't even think of a witty way to say this anymore, so let's go for blah blah boring. (ahem) James Cameron owns the characters and rights to "Dark Angel" No money is being made by this story. Thank you.

Rating: PG13 for language and imagery.

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FOGLE TOWERS

Max glanced back at Logan, just for an instant. She didn't see exactly what it was that was laying on his lap. On any other night her genetically enhanced reflexes would've picked up on what he was holding. She hadn't become a soldier by lacking a heightened sense of awareness of all things. But on this night, at that moment, she was questioning too much within herself to question him.

She looked away again, to the drizzle of rain dripping down on the surface of the windowpanes. Although it rained incessantly in Seattle, the steady downpour outside was different to the dark brown eyes watching it. It seemed like nature itself was also in a wash of sadness, crying for something that it had witnessed silently in a wooded clearing.

The rain also meant any trace of evidence of what had gone on hours ago would be washed away, erased like it never existed. And only two people would know the truth about what happened, and one of them was dead.

Max turned away from the window. The thoughts in her head were driving her crazy. Looping back and force in an endless feed of what she had done. She gave up trying to be comfortable on the couch and stood up. Her appearance, barefoot and in Logan's red robe, would've amused her but she was so far beyond giving a fuck about what she looked like outside.

It was always about the outside appearance. Dark eyes, big breasts, curvy figure. But it wasn't who she was. Her looks were like clothing to her, something she put on to hide what was underneath. And tonight it was a curse. Because she was raging like a fire out of control inside, feeling on the verge of dying, but her pretty face remained the same. She wished she could rip off her beautiful mask and have people see how haunted and tortured the person underneath it lay.

She ran into Logan on the way to the kitchen. She was walking idly, trying not to make contact with anything, but in the end it didn't work and she bumped into the footrest on his wheelchair.

Logan was still in his chair, and turned his eyes up to her briefly. "Sorry."

His words were so clipped, a formality, not their usual banter. There was something in it that Max sensed not liking. Her sculpted eyebrows arched downwards as she watched his eyes shift away from her and onto the floor where a stack of papers had fallen from his lap.

Max bent down to help him retrieve them but Logan groped for them faster, dismissing her.

"I've got it."

Max ignored him and picked up one of the sheets.

"I said I've got it!" Logan hissed gathering up the two remaining pictures that were beside the one she had taken.

Logan's tone surprised her; it wasn't like him to loose his cool over a few measly pieces of paper. But when she caught sight of what she was holding in her hand she forgot all about his tone.

In front of her was blood, dirt, sweat all amplified on a glossy color print. A moment frozen in time on a day frozen in her memory. In front of her was herself.

She stared at the picture, into the eyes of the girl she was. The crimson stain on her chin in the picture stood out starkly against her skin and she had to fight the urge to touch her cheek to see if the blood was still there.

Logan was watching her the entire time. Max finally tore her eyes away from the grizzly images and turned to his gaze. Logan's eyes showed no trace of guilt. They were set in a determined look that didn't want to apologize; they wanted an explanation.

Max could've done a number of things in those few transitional moments. She could've left, turn and ran without a word. She could've broken down at seeing the glossy coated image of a day she had tried so hard to forget. But she was caught somewhere in-between wanting to flee and wanting to cry. And the end product that emerged as a result was raw anger.

"Where did you get these?" Max waved the picture in front of Logan. She repeated her question after Logan failed to answer the first time. "Where the hell did you get them?"

"Maybe you should tell me when they were taken," Logan insisted, not answering her question. "Why they show what they do."

"Don't try to excuse going behind my back to get crap like this!" She threw the picture at him, and it fluttered down to land on the footrest of his wheelchair. "I wanna know where you got them!"

"What difference does it make where I got them Max?" Logan had given up pretending that Max's entire attitude for the past few days didn't bother him. "I could've gotten them from the Tooth Fairy, but they still would've shown the same thing."

Logan had no idea how ironic his Tooth Fairy statement was to Max. "Why did you get them?" She switched to a different tactic. Wherever the images came from, he needed a reason to want them. A feeling bordering on betrayal tore at her gut. "Do you have such a damn fascination about what happened to us back at Manticore that you would hunt around for images proving that I was a-"

"Killer?"

Max had stopped before she said the word, but Logan had gone on. The feeling of betrayal ripped through her now, stabbing her with fiery pain. Her eyes became instantly hard. "Don't you dare insinuate on situations you no _nothing_ about."

"This image seems pretty cut and dry Max!" Logan spat. He could feel the anger rolling off of her, and he counterattacked it with just as much hostility. "A man splayed out like an offering in his own blood, killed by a pack of children, and you were one of those children."

"Manticore wasn't a playground Logan!" Max growled, her body going as rigid as her eyes. A stance of attack. "What the hell did you think Lydecker was training us for? He was breeding us to be soldiers, predators-" Ben's last description never came out of her mouth because she didn't want to repeat it and admit that he had been right all along. "Why do you think we got out? Do you honestly believe we enjoyed doing those things?"

"After what you told me went on tonight Max I don't know what to think." Logan returned, matter-of-fact.

Max felt like she was free falling into a pit of jagged glass. Images of Ben's final moments flashed through her mind, the snap of his vertebrae, his limp body in her arms, the helicopters approaching. She didn't know what aspect of Logan's cruel remark hit her hardest, the initial sting of the words, or the fact that she couldn't deny what he said.

"And after what you just told me, neither do I." She kept her mask up while hot, angry tears ran down underneath it.

"Max I just needed to understand how Ben can be labeled as a murderer and I'm supposed to think differently of your actions." The words tumbled out of Logan so fast he didn't have time to analyze them completely. Had he not been so angry he would've bitten them back. But they were out now and had done their damage.

"I never said you did." Her emotionless mask crack and one fast tear dropped down her face and fell to the floor. "I killed my brother tonight Logan. That makes me a murderer; I didn't expect you to treat me any differently." She paused, her breath hitched, but more tears didn't flow. "This is why I didn't want you to help me Logan. You pride yourself on saving the world, but when the world gets too dirty for you don't want anything to do with it."

She turned on her heel like it was a planned action in a melodramatic movie. Her footfalls were quiet on the planks of his floor. But her life wasn't as perfect as cheap movie dramatics and Logan didn't just remain silent after she turned to leave.

"I just wanted an explanation Max."

She looked back at him, a glossy sheen covering her eyes from tears that she wouldn't release. Her arms hung rigidly at her side, hands balled into fists, wanting to punch something, maybe wanting to punch him. "An explanation or a scapegoat?"

"You _did_ commit the act in question Max, there's no need for a scapegoat." Logan's words were a quiet anger. He never once considered her to be innocent, but he never expected her to lie to his face. "Don't be angry at me for the sins you've committed."

The word _'sin'_ unnerved Max because of all the religious ties with Ben. He had killed, murdered people because of a warped sense of faith. There were all sorts of _sins_ that Ben had committed. But he was messed up; he had an obsessive faith in a Virgin goddess he didn't fully understand. No matter what Ben did, Max could excuse him, because he didn't know what else to do. But she could never forgive herself, because she did.

"I never said I was angry at you for that Logan," her voice was strengthening; she wanted to make sure she spoke with passion to give her words conviction. "Notwithstanding your total lack of ability in comprehending the realism of my life; the only one I'm angry at with tonight is myself." She didn't step any closer to him as if an unseen force was holding her in position. "I'm angry because before tonight I thought I was the strongest between me and Ben. That's why he couldn't deal with life outside of Manticore, that's why he murdered all those people. But it was all a lie. I lied to myself and killed my brother because I couldn't deal with how strong he really was; how strong I realized that made me."

Max broke the invisible barrier between her and Logan by just a few steps, her feet barely making any sound as they moved across the floor. "I was designed to kill Logan, and that's what I did. So you don't have to hate me for it because I hate myself enough, because I know I'll do it again and have to rationalize it later. And have high minded people like you try to understand why I do these things when I can't even understand myself."

"Manticore can't be yourscapegoat every time you commit some wrong doing Max," Logan wasn't buying into her rationalization of things. There was more to a person then where they grew up, even if that place was Manticore.

Max blinked back full-fledged anger because she was afraid of what would happen if she let it loose. "You were the one who told me that I can't let go of Manticore. It's not just something I can turn off and on whenever I want. It's primal, who I am. I can no sooner stop being who they made me anymore then you can stop breathing Logan."

"That place can't dictate your entire future Max," Logan hissed. "Somewhere in your life a line has to be drawn between Manticore and who you really are."

"I know who I am Logan. I'm a soldier with a bloody past, and you're someone who will never understand that. The only difference between us is that when I finally break no one will be around who gives a damn." She left him there with out any grandiose gestures or even obscene ones.

She didn't leave the penthouse; she was naked, both physically and emotionally. And she had nowhere else to go. So she didn't leave, but she left _him_ sitting there in the middle of his living room. She didn't expect him to follow her, and when he didn't it had a feeling of finality to it.

She rammed her shoulder into the door of Logan's rarely used guest room, pushing it open and stepping inside. Masculine, but still beautiful furniture greeted her. A high mahogany bed, a matching night table, a silvery gray shaded lamp atop its surface beside a small black digital alarm clock. Against the opposite was a low bureau with a bronze framed oval mirror hanging above it.

Countless times Logan had offered this room to her but she never had set foot into it because sleep was as meaningless to her as the thought of Logan actually ever inviting her into _his_ bedroom.

But now that she was using it she didn't want to be there at all. There was nothing of comfort emitting from this room. It was cold to her, a richly dressed up prison cell. She shut the door hard and stepped over the floor to the bed. The dark green coverlet was soft under her hand, beckoning her down to it.

She lay down diagonally across the bed on her side, resting her head against a bent elbow. She closed her eyes and didn't breathe for a moment, sinking to a place somewhere between meditation and sleep.

"_Max,"_ a shadowy voice danced on still air, the voice of her brother.

Her eyes snapped open and she bolted upright from the bed like it had burned her. She looked around wildly for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of something physical that had spoken those words. But there was no one there besides her and a room full of silent objects.

"_You know what they'll do to me…"_

She spun around to the mirror, where the sound seemed to come. She grabbed the lamp and hurled at the mirror, shattering the reflective glass into shards that flew outwards like after the impact from a bomb.

That first act was like a catalyst; the clock found it's way across the room next; the plastic casing splintering after it hit the wall.

"_Maxie."_ The whispering noise drifted like air through her ears, a lament.

She had nothing left to throw so she screamed, a guttural agonizing mixture of non-syllables shouted into the air like the last cry of a dying animal. She collapsed back on the bed and cried, trying to bury herself into the mattress.

She cried for Ben and she cried for herself, for innocence they would never know, and for suffering that they would always know. She cried because something came alive in her the moment she killed Ben. A primal, learned response had been awakened in her and she knew it would never go away. She was a killer, and the only way to stop that feeling was for someone to stop her the same way she had stopped Ben.

This was her life. She was shrapnel, bits and pieces flung into a human woman, all the while pretending to the world that that was all she really was.

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_Heaven bend to take my hand,_

_And lead me through the fire_

_Be the long awaited answer_

_To a long and painful fight_

_Truth be told I've tried my best _

_But somewhere along the way_

_I got caught up in all there was to offer_

_And the past was so much more then I could bear_

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In her entire life she had never not known what to do. From birth she was bred and conditioned to follow the hierarchy of commands, to follow orders. She was an elite soldier who was taught that she was above any human acts of decency and law.

But those sayings preached so long ago were useless sayings to her now, alone in a room; having to deal with the real world ramifications of exactly what that meant.

Ben was dead; she had killed him barehanded in mere seconds like the chicken she had brought home from the market, and no amount of military reasoning or conditioning was going to erase that fact.

So she cried because there was nothing else she could do anymore. She was his sister and she had killed him. There was something very sad in that realization. She had done what he had asked her to do. What he had asked her to do was made up of her past and whether she would give in was made up of her present, just how far she had really come since her days at Manticore. And what she did to Ben out there proved that she had fled from Manticore, but it had never fled from her.

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_So I tried, but I've fallen I have sunk so low_

_I messed up_

_Better I should know_

_So don't come round here and tell me I told you so_

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She lost all sense of caring how pitiful she looked. How her body was curled in on itself, her eyes puffy, her face damp with tears, completely unlike the hard ass, streetwise woman she presented herself to be. She rarely allowed herself to give into her emotions because the years of suffering had amassed so much pain that it would crush her if she finally decided to concede to them.

But Ben's death had chipped away part of her iron cast mask, just enough of a release to force the rest of her resolve to crack.

She wanted to scream, but her throat was dry, and her chest hurt from her sobbing. When she found that she couldn't scream anymore she searched for another channel for her rage, her tortured thoughts. Had someone else been in the room she probably would have beat them senseless then leave them to crawl away bloody and terrified, never knowing what brought on her attack.

The lamp was broken in two and the mirror was shattered beyond salvage from her earlier outburst. But it wasn't enough for her. She wanted even these pieces of furniture and curios to suffer as much as she was suffering.

There only thing left that she saw fit to do damage on was the large retangular window that almost took up the entire right wall. A sheer gray curtain, the same color as the lampshade hung in front of it.

She jumped off the bed and shoved the curtain aside, staring off into the night, seeing over the trashcan fires and city lights to the dark spots that she knew to be the forests.

She gazed past the glass, watching the still dark spots as though they would speak to her.

"_Maxie."_

His reflection shone clear on the windowpane, his eyes dark, wearing the same clothes he had died in, the ones that made him look more sad then murderous.

"Don't let them take me." 

She whipped around to face the room again, seeing no one behind her, nothing but the soft lamp light. But when she turned back to face the glass pane he was there, watching her, so tortured, so misunderstood.

"_Please."_

She screamed again from a voice she didn't know she had left and brought both fists down on the window. The force from her punch tore threw the glass like a steel mallet sending a spray of glass dust flying at her face.

The fine dust of powdered glass settled around her, some of it coating her eyelashes and hair, shimmering where it lay, like small diamonds that still remained adorned on a priestess after a terrible war. There was no more energy left in her but her body still heaved, choking on the emptiness, not willing to believe that there was nothing left to sustain it.

The impact of her punch resonated like a miniature atomic bomb going off in the penthouse and her own ears rang from the noise of shattered glass. Most of the glass had been thrown out the window but a few pieces had fallen inside. The jagged glass had been flung right next to her bare feet, slicing through the skin and sending small rivulets of blood leaking onto the floor.

Max did not feel any of this, or the fragments of glass embeded into cuts on her hands from where she had punched the window. The physical pain had taken second place to another kind of pain, an overwhelming one that could not be inflicted by broken glass.

Ben's image had faded the minute she had made contact with the glass and in the end she had punching her own ghostly reflection. She had damaged herself, and she felt more justification for that act then any other she had done that day. Killing was the kind of art she had learned to be the artist too; and she had and will suffer dearly for her trade.

She wanted to collapse back onto the bed. She turned and stepped on a chunk of broken glass that dug it's way into her heel, not feeling the pain, but the positioning of the glass under her foot threw her off balance.

She was caught by something from behind, something with a scent she recognized, eyes she could feel on her even though she wasn't looking at them.

Max jerked away from Logan so hard that his chair rolled two inches backwards. He quickly set the brakes, silently watching her slowly sit on the side of the bed, stepping over bits of the broken windowpane that had slid there. She drew her knees protectively around her chest and gripped them in her arms. There was blood running down her hands in-between her fingers, leaking slowly into the terry cloth of his red robe.

She turned her head and stared at him, a single piercing gaze with her large brown eyes. Nothing that looked predatory or even weak, but sad, shattered, broken.

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We all begin with good intent 

_Love was raw and young_

_We believe that we could change ourselves_

_The past could be undone_

_Though we carry on our backs the burden_

_Time always reveals_

_In the lonely light of morning_

_In the wounds that would not heal_

_It's the bitter taste of loosing everything_

_I've held so dear_

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Max didn't say one word to Logan in the brief seconds that she looked at him. Not because she couldn't trust anything he said in return anymore, but because she could. She had admired his honesty from the beginning. He had been right about her. She was a killer, but acknowledging that fact did nothing to make it go away.

She cupped one hand under her mouth, smelling the blood on it as it began to mix with the salt from her tears as she cried.

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_So I tried, but I've fallen I have sunk so low_

_I messed up_

_Better I should know_

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Logan watched her in total silence, absorbing the sounds of someone he had never seen cry. He didn't embrace her but reached out to placed a single hand against her back, just below her shoulder. She made know acknowledgement of his gesture, but she didn't brush his hand away.

Blood and glass were spread on the floor, shrapnel from a very recent fight over everything misunderstood about Manticore. A battle Max had never wanted to fight.

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_So don't come round here and tell me I told you so_

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LOGAN (VOICE OVER) _"Despite a strong amount of loyalty that pulls me to her side I'm beginning to sense that Lydecker is right about Max."_

_(HOURS EARLIER) _

Max released Ben's neck, letting his head fall limply back, hanging just on the edge of her leg. She cried at the terrible sound his vertebrae had made when she broke it. She convulsed on sobs, weeping into her hands above her brother's lifeless body.

LOGAN (VOICE OVER) "_The Girl Next Door façade died when the Pulse hit, but even if it hadn't, the old Colonel was right, Max would have never met that classification. She is not that kind of girl."_

The sounds of movement in the brush were becoming louder around her. An oncoming approach of men that were a mere hundreds yard away. Her heightened sense of hearing could pick up each distinct footfall from the group of soldiers approaching.

She slid out from under Ben's body, cupping her hand behind his twisted neck and gently laying his head down to the fallen leaves on the forest floor.

LOGAN (VOICE OVER) _"She was born originally as a soldier, and a part of her, a larger part of her then I wish to know about, will always be attached to Manticore."_

Max stood up to check her position in the forest, gauging the location of the sun in the sky for a natural compass to her escape. She kept an ear out for the soldiers, listening to the sounds of their approach, to estimate how many there were. According to Manticore protocol (mostly Lydecker's protocol) the lead soldiers would be armed only with tasers in order to bring their captives in alive. Max's only comfort in this was that they would come upon the clearing first, and they would see Ben's lifeless body sprawled out alone first and prevent the other soldiers from mangling him with bullets.

LOGAN (VOICE OVER) "_The things that she learned there-"_

Max turned back. She stared at the black clothing Ben was wearing, his brown hair, finally noticing things she should have long ago. He had turned out to be a handsome man, a good man, just more damaged then he knew.

LOGAN (VOICE OVER) "_They will dictate her actions on every level of her life."_

She took the smallest of steps that closed the short distance between them, kneeling down next to the top half of his body. She ran her hands through the soft length of hair that was just shy of falling in his eyes. She leaned over him and kissed his forehead and then stood up in crushing pain, sprinting away into the forest.

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End.

I've read a lot of post Pollo Loco fics where Logan is very understanding about what Max did, but after the episode, and during the next one (I And I Am a Camera) he was very distant from Max because of what Lydecker had told him and all he had witnessed with Max surrounding Ben. And to me this angle was the more realistic one to play up because it shows the dramatics of human nature. Max and Logan getting all snuggly with each other wasn't what Pollo Loco was about. Also I rarely read anything that touched on the realistic aftermath Max would go through after Ben's death. This is my version.

And that is my explanation for my angsty yarn. Hope I attracted some readers.

The lyrics used were "Fallen" by: Sarah McLaughlin.

R/R please

Peace

Mystic


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